In
late 1987 I happened to see a PBS show about Soviet Jews emigrating to New York
in the 1890s. Rather than focusing only on the promising future of life in the new world and the ethnic warmth of the Lower East Side, this
documentary awoke in me an awareness of how much these immigrants left behind -
generations of close friends and family, careers and possessions, and a lifetime
of associations with the old world. These immigrants were my grandparents and
great-grandparents; those who chose to stay behind were lost forever, including their
future generations, my unknown cousins.

A
composer's response to something this poignant is often to set the experience to
music, and that night I began a bittersweet work for cello and piano. Combining
sadness with optimism is basic to this music, as it was basic to immigrants
giving up everything in hope of a better future. The piece was
originally titled Hebrew Elegy, a lyrical poetic plaint without much
cellistic flash.

A
few months after finishing Hebrew Elegy, I gave a copy (with no program
notes) to a cellist-friend, suggesting he might want the premiere. Unbeknownst
to me this cellist had AIDS, and he assumed I knew and had composed a
"Hebrew Eulogy" for him which he immediately worked into the
funeral he'd been planning. He was particularly moved that I understood the
bittersweet combination of sadness and optimism in his struggle.

The
unexpected and ironic parallel led me
to think of a more universal title, and Peaceful Journey became the
final name of the work.